


A Rush to Judgment, A Leap of Faith

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 11:56:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is the reward worth the risk?<br/>Time Frame: Season 3 - Post 309<br/>Originally posted on my livejournal</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rush to Judgment, A Leap of Faith

_**Chapter One**  
_

_Life is a like a chessboard, a game set in motion by a series of ploys and gambits as you move from square to square until the final checkmate. You decide how to play._  
  
JUSTIN'S POV:  
  
     “You’re home.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement. I knew he was here as soon as I dragged the metal door open. Discounting the weird, itchy feeling on my skin whenever he’s near, the unmistakable scent of weed was a dead giveaway. Interesting. Not exactly out of the ordinary but interesting.  
  
      I was surprised to see him. Brian never left work before seven and recently, it’s been even later. We barely have enough time for a welcome fuck and a quick bite before going out. Both not necessarily related, by the way. I couldn’t believe he was already _home._ I’m not used to associating that word with the loft. I don’t know if I ever will be.  
  
     “Meeting ended early.”  
  
      Bullet point answer. Hunched at his desk, he didn’t get up, didn’t look up. He stayed glued to the computer screen. Like a wispy feather stroking my spine, an uneasy chill tickled my flesh. I shook it off with a shrug, preferring the distraction of his bare foot jiggling on the floor instead.  
  
      I thumped my backpack on the floor and started toward the kitchen for a water. “Did you get the mail?” I had renewed my subscription to _Art Digest_ and was anxious for the latest issue. A simple question, right? Innocuous enough. Obviously not.  
  
     “Why the fuck wouldn’t I?”  
  
      Whoa! This was one of those moments when I wished life had an instant replay button because I had a strong urge to go out and come in again. His tone was so sharp that I ran my hands over my arms checking for scratches. I frantically searched my mind for clues to pinpoint why he sounded as if he were grinding glass. I found none.  
  
      I didn’t understand. Taking the Stockwell shit out of the mix, things have been pretty good between us. We haven’t had any major fights or disagreements, only the daily skirmishes most couples—fuck! I mean _people_ —go through, straight or gay. The blissful peace should have triggered warning bells, but I didn’t hear even a faint jingle. I was too focused on being happy. We were back. That’s what mattered.  
  
      I wasn’t in a great mood myself, but I certainly wasn’t looking for a fight. It’s just that some days are harder than others to ignore his shit, especially his enigmatic shit. This was one of those days. “What the fuck crawled out of your ass?”  
  
      The oppressive silence that followed clawed at my throat, making me want to fling the windows open for fresh air. With each passing second, I double-timed my breaths.  
  
      Then he said, “Sorry. It was a bullshit day.”  
  
      My mouth formed a perfect O of amazement. I closed it but it fell open again. Feeling like a gasping fish, I forced it shut. Shock and awe didn’t come close to my reaction. There was no way in hell he uttered that word! Who was this imposter and what did he do to _my_ Brian? I had to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. “Could you please repeat that into my tape recorder?”  
  
     “Repeat what?”  
  
     “The first word you said.” I know. I was being a shit.  
  
      He finally turned around and had the nerve to glare. What the fuck would he have done if I suddenly started wearing Armani suits, Gucci ties, and Prada shoes? He wouldn’t question it? Although, he’s such a label slut, he’d no doubt say a thanksgiving prayer to the Designer Deities for letting me see the light. I’m not referring to Emmett’s brainwashing group either.  
  
      The eyebrow arch had to be one of his top five, literally and figuratively. Weighing my options, I decided not to push the matter. “Forget it. Apology accepted and duly recorded for posterity.”  
  
     “I don’t doubt it,” he muttered.  
  
      The words prickled the back of my neck. Was this another Kinney jigsaw puzzle?  
  
      Let me explain. Living with Brian forces you to find alternatives—alternatives to speaking, thinking, doing, understanding. If I thought about it, I probably could include breathing in the list. You know the Bon Jovi song, “Living on a Prayer”? With Brian it’s more like living on a wing and a prayer or flying by the seat of your pants. To figure out what’s going on in that gorgeous but dysfunctional head, not only do I have to read between the lines and interpret his words, I also have to decipher his body language. Making matters worse, after all that work, there’s still a 50/50 chance I’ll reach the wrong conclusion and unfortunately, the odds are with the house.  
  
      Through trial and error, I’ve learned that sometimes casual shrugs and non-committal trivialities are outward signs of hurt and frustration; cool, calm, and collected means bewitched, bothered, and bewildered; even-toned and carefully spoken words are indications of seething anger. Even more interesting, there are any number of variables to those combinations.  
  
      Then again, depending on the situation, things could be exactly as they appear, with no need to parse every sentence or analyze every action. I’m supposed to know that intuitively. But a constant output of brainpower at maximum voltage can drain the battery. I’m not the fucking energizer bunny except when.... Never mind.  
  
     “Mail’s on the table, by the way.” Even-toned and carefully spoken. Place your bets. Heads or tails?  
                       
      I stood in the kitchen, one hand clutching the granite countertop, while I debated how to deal with this unexpected predicament. After a few sips of water, I rounded my bulwark of safety and started going through enough paper to equal a tree. Sifting through catalogs, magazines, credit card applications, and prerequisite credit card bills, I spotted a padded brown envelope peeking out from the bottom. Addressed to me, the scrawl looked vaguely familiar but I couldn’t place it.                               

                                                                                      [](http://kinfic2.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/4324/37548)

      I reached under the pile and pulled it out. _Shit!_

_**Chapter Two**_ **  
** JUSTIN'S POV:

_“How can I be sure in a world that’s constantly changing? How can I be sure where I stand with you?” ©Brigati,Cavaliere_  
                                            
                                                                                      [](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/kinfic2/21159744/37821/37821_original.png)

    My heart skipped a beat, then another. And suddenly I became aware of a pulse thundering in my head. I knew it! I should have told him as soon as it happened, but I couldn’t. I’ll admit it. I was scared of ruining this new and improved version of us. We had suffered too much, and I had worked too hard to fuck it up over something so trivial as running into Ethan. Because I knew—that what would happen was now happening.

      The thing is, until the Iconic Optics debacle, my plan had been perfect. I had ingratiated myself with the art department, scored brownie points with Cynthia, and was well on my way to earning my “ubiquitous Justin Taylor” badge. Then came the presentation. I was only trying to help. She asked. I answered. And he got the account. But that wasn’t enough for the great Mr. Kinney. He has to be on top all the time professionally, personally, and of course, physically. 

      I was terrified I’d made a mess of everything. After our blow up, I asked Cynthia if she could pencil in a meeting at the end of the day. Better to go through proper channels than to give him more ammunition. With various arguments swirling in my head, I headed to his office like a man going to his execution. My stomach churned and more than once, I had to wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. What if he didn’t take me back? What if he really did make me pack up my shit and leave? I don’t know what I would have done, because I would have had only myself to blame. How do you live with that?

      When I arrived, he was sitting at his desk, a highly polished shoe perched on an open lower drawer, a relaxed hand on the knee of impeccably creased pants. His studied glance sent a jolt of electricity through my veins. His softly uttered, “Come in,” burned them to a crisp. My blustery confidence deflated into blustery bullshit. I’m not sure how I convinced him. I’m just glad I did.

      I didn’t tell him I ran into Ethan because I knew he’d go into pain management mode first, then push or throw me out the door, telling himself he was doing it for me. I couldn’t let that happen, not after all we’d been through, not when we seemed to have regained what we’d lost.

      It was an accidental meeting. When I saw him walking downtown, I purposely crossed the street so I wouldn’t have to speak with him. No such luck. He spotted me and called out my name, weaving in and out of traffic to catch up. I resisted the temptation to run away, and we made stilted small talk. But all the while, my eyes kept darting around, searching for anyone I knew, for any way Brian could find out. I hated myself for doing it, for feeling guilty. And I hated _why_ I felt guilty even more. It was a simple matter of cause and effect, Brian’s insecurity and my own.

      The conversation was also uncomfortable. Ethan kept dropping hints that he wanted us to get back together. I kept getting increasingly grossed out. What the fuck did I ever see in him? Maybe aliens came in the middle of the night and replaced my brain with a clone for experimentation. Why else would I think that he was what I wanted, that he could give me what I mistakenly thought Brian couldn’t?

_                                                                  “But did she make you cry, make you break down, shatter your illusions of love?  
                                                                  And tell me, is it over now? Do you know how to pick up the pieces and go home?”  ©S.Nicks _

      He asked where I was living. When I told him I was back with Brian, he gave me a knowing smirk. It took all of my restraint not to physically wipe it off his face. I only wanted to get away. And then I honestly forgot about it. I really did! Because it didn’t mean anything! Now I have to convince Brian.                                                                                                          

BRIAN'S POV:

_                                                                          “Long distance run around, melting the anger to stone. _  
_                                                                           I still remember the dream there. I still remember the time you said goodbye. _  
_                                                                           Did we really tell lies? Did we count to one hundred looking for the sunshine?”  ©Anderson_   

       When I saw the return address, my heart froze. All the old irritations and doubts came crashing back like a fist in the stomach. Tortured by images of entwined bodies and sweaty limbs, whispered voices and breathless pants, I wanted to ask, wanted to yell, “Why? What does he want with you? What do _you_ want with him?”

                                                                                     [](http://kinfic2.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/4324/37929)

      I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt when he went to the fiddler. It gutted me. I wasn’t surprised, however. I always knew he would leave. Why wouldn’t he? Let’s face it, I’m a bastard—but a pragmatic one.

      We had been blown apart, but at least we did it civilly. There were no screaming matches, no throwing things, just a considerate Justin sneaking in the middle of the day to remove himself from the loft and my life. Like Sodom and Gomorrah, all that remained were embittered ashes—of each, not both.

_“Back to being free again with all my precious freedom, back to the life I’d known before I ever knew him._  
                                 _Take a look at lucky me. You can see how happy I am. Back to where I used to be. Free again.”  ©Becaud, Sigman_

      I wanted to be indifferent, wanted to forget him as soon as he left. But I couldn’t. I had reached the summit. There was nowhere else to go. I couldn’t pretend he never existed, that what we had never happened. Not that I didn’t try. I tried fucking, drugging, and drinking him out of my system. Nothing worked. It was as if this intoxicating mix of devil and angel, sinner and saint had become part of my DNA.

      When he started his devious “I’m coming back” campaign, I nearly shouted with joy. Because from the very beginning, if it hadn’t been for him, there never would have been an us.

      We began this latest phase thinking we could pick up where we left off, but it was impossible. Too much had passed between us. Feelings were still too raw, memories too fresh, and for better or worse, we had changed. We had to find a way to bridge the gap between what we had and who we were before with what we had and who we were now. If it didn’t work, and there was a very good possibility it wouldn’t—my track record wasn’t exactly stellar—I don’t know if we would have survived. I certainly wouldn’t have.

      It _did_ work though, much to everyone’s amazement and to Mikey’s chagrin. At least, I thought it did. But this latest development has me thinking about things I don’t want to think about and don’t want to remember. No matter how hard I try to forget, the fiddler’s fucking shadow is always there, making me wonder when someone else will take his place, making me ask what the fuck I’m doing, making me question if I’ll ever be enough.

                                                                                                     **_Chapter Three_**

__ **The melody may change, but the dance is always the same, the steps too familiar. How many more whirls around the floor can you do before you falter, too weak to continue, too tired even to try? **

      Justin exhaled a forceful whoosh of air and dropped the envelope as if his fingers had been burned. His mind raced with various ways to diffuse the ticking bomb. He had to tread carefully. With an acute instinct honed from experience, he intentionally kept his tone neutral. “Nothing important in the mail other than bills and my latest issue of _Art Digest._ ”

      Biting his lower lip, he willed himself to project an air of nonchalance. His emotional armor in place, he strolled to the sofa and made himself comfortable, propping his feet on the coffee table. He pretended to read, hoping his deceptively unruffled pose would hide the butterflies fluttering inside. And then he waited. The proverbial calm before the inevitable storm.

      It felt like an eternity, but the quicksand of silence was only a prolonged moment—until Brian pinched the bridge of his nose and pushed his chair away from the desk. With the outcome of the evening up for grabs, he poured a healthy amount of Beam into a glass for reinforcement and gulped it in one shot. Grimacing as the burn worked its way to his stomach, he poured another, then strolled toward the table with a deliberately casual pace, aware of blue-eyed lasers stealthily tracking his every move.

      Lips set in a pencil-thin line, he gave a haphazard sweep through the mail before picking up the object of his interest. Long fingers restlessly brushed over the brown paper. Was he that much of a masochist to push this? Of course, he was. Did he really want to find out? Of course, he did. Wasn’t it better to know now instead of waiting until things became more complicated, until it was too late to walk away? Of course, he lied. He inwardly shook his head. Who was he kidding? It had been too late from the beginning.

      He walked with measured steps and tossed it on the sofa. “Don’t you want to open this?”

      Flipping through the pages of his magazine, Justin gave a dismissive shrug. “Not particularly.”

     “Open it.” Two words. Two words spoken with an edge of a challenge that left no room for debate or refusal.

      Justin felt the confrontational demand in his bones even before he raised his head. When he did look up, he was stunned to see the accusatory glare. Startled by a sudden flare of anger scorching his insides, he threw the magazine down in disgust and leaped to his feet, as if staying seated could hasten his incineration. “Why the fuck did you even bother to ask? You want me to open it? Fine!” Eyes blazing, he grabbed the envelope and ripped it apart, scattering bits and pieces to the floor. He gave the CD a cursory glance, sucking in an apprehensive breath before waving it in front of Brian. “Happy now?”

      Brian snatched it from his hand. “Well, well! Ian’s on his way to becoming the next Jascha Heifetz. Glad to see he kept his priorities in order.” Driven by irrational fear, he flipped it over to read the liner notes, gritting his teeth against the emotional fireball in his gut. _Dedicated to JT, my inspiration and my passion, my soul and my muse._ “And he even thanked you! How ridiculously romantic!” he snickered.  
                      
                                              

                                                                                         
      With an exaggerated movement, he placed an index finger at the corner of his mouth and tilted his head. The mocking flicker of amusement in his eyes turned cold. “Hmm, wonder how he found out where to send it.”

      Justin shivered at the look. He knew it well. Aware of the approaching firestorm, he wondered if his convenient lack of memory about meeting Ethan was more unconscious avoidance than honest forgetfulness. 

__ ** “People will do anything, say anything, no matter how absurd, to avoid facing their own soul.”  ** _C.Jung _

      He pushed aside the knot of fear in his chest and took a deep breath. “I ran into him a couple of weeks ago.”

     “Really?” Brian raised a sardonic brow.

     “Yes, _really._ ”

      Brian’s stifled grunt sounded like a choked attempt to control his laughter. “How very modern and politically correct of you to stay in touch with your ex!” The emphasis on the word and its unspoken question hung heavy in the air like a dense fog. “The perfect poster boy of socially acceptable behavior for the gay male! Mommy would be so proud. Good for you! _And_ , may I add, you’ve definitely gotten better.”

      Brows furrowed together, Justin’s face reflected his confusion. “At what?”

    “Obfuscation.” Brian took a long swallow from his glass. When he continued, his words dripped with sarcasm. “With your 1500 SAT score, surely you know what that means.”

      Justin stared in amazement. “What the fuck are you talking about? Are you insane? It wasn’t some big state secret! I ran into him on the street. We talked. That was it.” He threw him a withering look. “But that’s not what _you_ think is it? So why don’t you spit it out instead of beating around the bush like you always do? Why don’t you ask me what you _really_ want to know?”

_ “Why can’t you see what you’re doing to me when you don’t believe a word I say. _  
                                                        _We can’t go on together with suspicious minds._  
                                                        _And we can’t build our dreams on suspicious minds.”  ©T.Hatch_

      Brian shifted uncomfortably under the heat of Justin’s gaze. And that bothered him. Because he didn’t know why. When he answered, he couldn’t keep the petulance out of his voice. “There’s nothing to ask.”

     “Isn’t there?” Justin demanded. “There’s a faint tinge of green around ‘them there eyes,’ Mr. Kinney.” He knew Brian already had him out the door and passionately ensconced in Ethan’s arms. For a man who oozed confidence and charm, who used knife-edged comments and deathly glares like weapons, whose arrogance and ego were legendary, he had enough insecurity to rival an eighth grade locker room.

     “Don’t flatter yourself, Sunshine.”

     “Then don’t make something out of nothing!”

     “You _can_ understand my confusion, can’t you? The way I remember it, and please feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, _I_ wasn’t the one who walked out the door to him.”

     “You never asked me not to,” Justin retorted.

     “And I never would!” Brian slammed his glass down, drawing a small measure of satisfaction at seeing Justin flinch. “If you didn’t want to fucking go in the first place, you wouldn’t have!”

      Despite the hard thump of his heart at the angry bellow, Justin refused to back down. “And I wouldn’t have gone if I wasn’t pushed!”

     “Pushed? When the fuck did I ever push you to do anything?”

     “You pushed me out by _not_ doing anything, you dumb shit!”

      Brian dragged a hand across his face. “That makes no fucking sense at all.”

     “Doesn’t it? Did you ever hear of incentive?”

     “Incentive?” Under different circumstances, Brian would have laughed. Instead, he scratched his head in disbelief. “You need fucking _incentive_ to stay?”

     “No, it’s just... Fuck! I’m not asking for your undying love and affection. But I like to think I’d be missed a little if I weren’t around. Is that too much to ask?” Justin raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “Remember in your office when I said I knew what to expect from you now? I didn’t mean _nothing._ ” He heaved a weary sigh and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his palm. “You know what? This is fucking ridiculous! I thought we were done with this shit! Look in the mirror, Brian. Figure out what you want, then let me know.”

_ “Why can’t he see? How blind can he be? Someday he will see that he was meant for me.”   ©P.Spector _

**_Chapter Four_ **

__ **Even the most analytical mind has to take a leap of faith sometimes. **

BRIAN'S POV:

**To realize the error of one’s ways takes enlightenment, to admit the error takes humility, to change the error takes courage. To do all three takes a man. **

     He whirled around, sneakers squeaking on the floor, and grabbed his jacket. After yanking the door open with a force that rattled my Baccarat tumblers, he slammed it shut with a boom that shook the walls.

      I don’t blame him for walking out. When I try to tell him how I feel, how I can’t bear to have him leave again, my mind becomes a block of ice. I’m frozen by a desperate terror at his power, how he’s fucked up this life I built, bulldozing through my walls without so much as a huff and a puff.

      We should be in bed, fucking and sucking, whispering filthy words to each other. Instead, I’m sitting at the computer with meaningless storyboards and pithy phrases for company while he’s off wherever doing whatever with whomever.

      I knocked back the rest of my Beam. People say it’s a bad sign if you drink by yourself, that it’s a downward spiral into Dante’s ninth circle of hell. They must have known Jack. But there are many layers of hell. Personally, I think quiet time alone is valuable. Booze only clarifies the experience. It either throws you into the abyss or pulls you out of it.

      I grabbed the bottle, fuck the glass, and stood by the window, desperate for that clarity. Mesmerized by the streetlights playing tag with the passing cars, I let my mind drift. In the grand scheme of the universe, meeting him was a total accident. In the grand scheme of my life, it was a lucky accident. The only one I ever had. I almost stopped breathing when it dawned on me. I didn’t want to go back to the man I was without him. I wanted to go forward and be the man I could be with him.

      Where did the take-no-prisoners Brian Kinney go? When did he disappear? That man would be fighting back, going head-to-head with anyone who stood in the way of what he wanted. But how do I go head-to-head with myself?

     Try standing up for yourself for a change. Have some balls!

      Maybe it was time I took my own advice.

JUSTIN'S POV:

__“I know a place where the music is fine and the lights are always low. I know a place where we can go.”  ©T.Hatch_ _

      I desperately needed to get drunk. Seething in the most primitive way, I banged out of the loft and charged down the street without knowing where I was going. It only took a couple of blocks before the emotional outrage propelling me started to fade, leaving me gasping for air.

      While waiting for my breathing to return to normal, I contemplated my options, Woody’s or Babylon. Woody’s was too small, too intimate. I couldn’t ignore any of the guys if they showed up. And I definitely wasn’t in the mood for company. That left Babylon. I couldn’t be totally anonymous there either but at least it was easier to avoid conversations.

      Unfortunately, not only couldn’t I drink enough, I couldn’t drink fast enough to get where I wanted to be, rid of this simmering anger and rising fear. Even oglings of my ass and invitations to the backroom didn’t help. ‘Fuck off’ became my comment of choice.

      What scared me the most was that fear trumped the anger. I knew Brian’s incomprehensibly perplexing mind was capable of misconstruing the facts. He’d turn them into a warped reality that would make Verdi’s Otello seem like a comedy.

      After gulping the contents of my glass, I signaled for another. Ready to rip out the throat of the next guy who approached me, I felt a hand on my arm. The last drink must have been the magic elixir. I was about to haul off and land one when strong fingers grabbed my flesh.

     “I don’t think so.”

      Jesus Christ! What the fuck was he doing here? I spun around, unsteady from the shock of his presence, and snapped, “What do you want?”

      He looked like shit—bloodshot eyes, jaw muscles working like a bulldozer, and a rogue lock of hair hanging over his forehead. I had to force myself not to reach up and brush it away.

     “We need to talk.” His voice sounded like sandpaper.

      Emboldened by my faux capacity for alcohol, I stood my ground. “So talk.”

     “Not here.”

     “Why not? It’s as good a place as any. It’s not as if we’re going to solve the world’s problems. Hell, we can’t even solve our own. All we’re going to do is rehash the same old shit.” I waved my arm in giant circles for emphasis but quickly stopped when the room started spinning with it. “We’re just going to go round and round like the earth rotating on its axis or the planets revolving in their orbits around the su—”

      I didn’t get to finish what I thought was a very apt analogy. With an iron grip, he tugged me toward the door. “Come on, Copernicus, we need to have a discussion about whether or not Sunshine is the center of my universe.”

_[](http://kinfic2.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/4324/38719)_

_**CHAPTER FIVE**    _

  
_ “Every time I think I’ve had enough and start heading for the door, there’s a very strange vibration, piercing me right to the floor._  
_ It says turn around you fool, you know you love him more and more. Don’t wanna let you go. Never can say goodbye.” ©C.Davis _

    The ride was fast, furious and oddly silent. Although drowning in private seas of mental chaos, both were excruciatingly aware of each other’s presence. The thoughts may have been their own, but their emotions were kindred spirits, binding them together with super charged threads of unbearable electricity. The feeling was a familiar one—had been from the very beginning. Transcending ordinary sensation, it rubbed nerve endings raw with enough tension to make them scream.

      Reeling from the evening’s events, Justin propped an elbow on the door rest and stared at the blur of shadowy buildings and dimly lit storefronts as they whizzed by. The dizzying scenery lulled him into a mindless stupor, but when the car careened around yet another corner, he pressed his teeth into his thumb to stem a rising panic. He threw a furtive look at the manic driver and his stomach tightened.

      The aristocratic lines of his face hardened by concentration, Brian expertly weaved through traffic, flashing his high beams at whoever had the misfortune of slowing him down. As he raced through a yellow and squeaked through a red, street lights played hide and seek with his chiseled profile, shadow dancing in between its angles and planes. Every now and then, he’d quirk his head and relax his white-knuckled grip on the wheel, extending and flexing his fingers as if having a conversation with himself.

      They squealed to a stop in front of the building and climbed out with a stereo bang of doors. He double-timed his steps to match the taller man’s stride but his pounding heart had nothing to do with exertion. His nerves jangled with anticipatory dread. His entire future hinged on the events of the evening, on what would be said.

      With enough kinetic energy to light up Liberty Avenue, Brian stormed into the loft and flung his jacket on the sofa like a bullfighter tossing his cape into the ring. Although momentarily distracted by the exposed muscular arms and form-fitting wifebeater, Justin scrunched his eyes at the overwhelming déjà vu. _Coming in? Shut the door._ Like that first night, half of him wanted to run, the other half wanted to stay.

      Golden daggers shot him with frightening accuracy. “Why the fuck are you still here?”

     “Why are you?”

     “In case you hadn’t noticed, I live here.”

_“_ In case you hadn’t noticed, so do I. Sort of. Sometimes, anyway.”

     “You always want to talk, but if you don’t hear what you want to hear, the waterworks start or you bail! And then it’s my fault that the ‘conversation’ goes to shit. If I get a vote, I’d rather you bite my head off than cry or leave. How about taking your own advice?  Figure out what _you_ want.”

      He recoiled as if physically struck. Of all the epithets he expected, that wasn’t one of them. If the disparaging tirade had been a knife, he’d be bleeding from the cuts. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I do know. But you never listen to me.” He shook his head. “No, let me clarify. You listen but you don’t hear. You never do.”

                                                                                                       * * *

      Sailing into uncharted territory, Brian wrestled with unfamiliar feelings that had him floundering out of his comfort zone. Some people would know instinctively what to do or say. He wasn’t one of them. He could strategize almost any situation, but this relationship thing required skills he didn’t possess. Like a fish out of water, he was as much a novice as Justin. He may have been Justin’s physical first, but Justin was his emotional first. Feeling as if he hadn’t slept in days, he asked wearily, “What the fuck do you want from me?”

      Justin balled his hands into fists. “I don’t know! Something? Anything? Just talk to me! Meet me halfway!”

     “You knew what you were getting with me. It was all out in the open. I never made a secret who I was. That alone should have sent you running away. Any other twat would have. Why the fuck didn’t you?”

     “Because I couldn’t picture my life without you in it. I still can’t.” 

                                         _“If you don't know me by now, you will never, never, never know me.”  ©Gamble/Huff_

                                                                                                      * * *

      Although he no longer regarded Brian as a paragon—he knew his weaknesses too well—his wide-eyed naiveté had morphed into something deeper, more meaningful. He was committed to him, body and soul, no matter what the future held. During the downs of moody introspection, he realized Brian would never chase after him on his own, regardless of the circumstance. After all, he had his pride and his ego. Individually, they were formidable opponents. Together they were insurmountable obstacles. That’s why _he_ had to be the chaser. Despite the smokescreens of indifference, when things became too comfortable, Brian would either self-sabotage or run away. But someone who ran could be caught, depending on the persistence of the pursuer and the secret desire of the pursuee to be captured.

      He struggled to explain. “I want us to be together.” And then he paraphrased, “You know that. I never made a secret of it.” And then he glared. “That alone should have sent you running away.” And then he became serious. “But I can’t spend all my time wondering what you’re going to think and worrying what you’re going to do if something like this happens again. It’s exhausting and counterproductive and doesn’t do either of us any good.”

      He nibbled on his thumbnail and paced, pausing every now and then to collect his thoughts or to let a new one sink in. He stopped as abruptly as he started and threw his arms up. “Brian, I don’t care what we call whatever the fuck it is we have. The label doesn’t matter. But I want it to work, and I know you do, too. Even though it’s a fate worse than a limp dick for you to admit it. Everyone makes mistakes, even you, Mr. Kinney, although you’d never admit that, either. Mine just happen to be bigger than anyone else’s.” He acknowledged the snicker. “You’re not the only one who’s a size queen. But we’re supposed to learn from our mistakes. And I did. I just don’t know how to convince you that I did.”

     “You don’t have to convince me of anything,” Brian said flatly.

     “Don’t I?”

     “No, you don’t.”

      He couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice. “You really are a piece of work! Do you honestly think after all this time, I haven’t learned anything? Don’t you think I get you?”

     “Probably not.”

      He stared in disbelief and rubbed the knot of tension on the back of his neck, tilting his head from side to side to stretch the stiff muscles. “What exactly is it you do for a living? Are you that fucking obtuse?”

     “I think that’s a little harsh.”

     “Is it?”

      With a hint of color in his cheeks, Brian inspected the spotless floor for dust bunnies. He shuffled a foot and cleared his throat. “I suppose maybe on rare occasions that could be a possibility.”

     “No shit! What the fuck goes on in that illogical mind of yours?”   

      The tousled head shot up. “Illogical?”

     “About certain things, yes. About me, definitely. About yourself, absolutely. About you and me, unequivocally.”

      Brian’s mouth quirked into a half smile. “Yeah, I got it, 1500 SATs.” He gave a mirthless snort. “I tried pushing you away from the very beginning. I told myself I was doing it for you. I was full of shit. I did it for me.”

     “Brian, listen to me. Pay attention. I’m not here because I have to be. I’m here because I want to be. I’m not even here because you want me here.” At the arched right brow, he blew out an exasperated breath. “Oh, for— What? You don’t?” When the answer was nothing more than a silent shrug, he had an epiphanic moment of clarity. Like a light bulb clicking on in his brain, he finally understood what his leaving did. The man had suffered and had been humiliated because he stepped out of himself and took a chance on him, on them. It didn’t excuse what he did or didn’t do, said or didn’t say. He had been hurt, devastatingly so. And it hurt too much to know how much.

                                                            **“Better to be hurt by the truth than comforted with a lie.”** _K.Hosseini_

      Yes, he was insensitive and acerbic. Some might even say cruel. If asked, his 'friends' would be more than happy to add to the laundry list of sins. But he had convictions and principles, such as they were, although his detractors painted them with a self-serving brush. And he was also human, albeit deeply flawed, with meaningful gestures and psychological scars that only Justin saw. The former made him smile, the latter made him weep. And Justin loved him, all of him. Ignoring niggles of concern that he was pushing too hard, it became imperative to let him know. “Brian, do you think I love you?”

      He wasn’t sure he even heard him. There was no response, no recognition. The trademark stoic demeanor remained a blank canvas until Brian seemed to dig deep inside and reach a decision. A hairline crack appeared in the marble facade, then widened to a fissure under the stress of a stricken nod.

     “Say it,” he demanded gently.

     “Yes.”

     “Yes, what?”

      The answer was nothing more than a strangled whisper. “Yesithinkyouloveme.”

      It was the eyes. The terrified eyes of a trapped animal said what words never could—he thought he was supposed to return the sentiment. When he opened his mouth to speak, Justin silenced him with an index finger across his lips. “I didn’t ask because I wanted you to say it back. I know you love me. It just took a while to sink in.” He teased, “Maybe there’s too much scar tissue in my head.” He saw the flinch and hastened to add, “I’m kidding, okay?  But hearing the words doesn’t seem so important any more.” A melancholy expression flitted across his face and his voice turned wistful. “Maybe someday....” He gave a brief shake of his head. “No, I asked because I need you to believe it as much as I do. I’m not going anywhere. I love you, all of you, the good and the bad.”

                                                   _“What will it take till you believe in me the way that I believe in you?_  
                                                    _I said I love you and that’s forever and this I promise from the heart._  
                                                    _I couldn’t love you any better, I love you just the way you are.”  ©B.Joel_

_* * *_

      Brian had to look away. The heartfelt admission left him too vulnerable. His composure didn’t stand a chance when Justin looked at him as if he could see into his soul. It churned his insides, shifting his inner balance of power from rational thought to fanciful emotion.

      In desperate need of control, he made a joke to ease the tension. “What about ugly?” He saw the confusion. “You said the good and the bad. There was a movie, _The Good, the Bad, and_ —”

     “ _The Ugly,_ ” Justin finished with a grin. His blue eyes twinkled with mischief. “Yeah, I know. I purposely left that one out. It doesn’t apply.”

     “So I’m not ugly?”

      The grin morphed into a full-blown laugh. “Fishing for compliments? How the mighty have fallen!” Justin’s shoulders sagged like a deflating balloon. The evening obviously had taken its toll. “Why can’t we ever have a normal conversation, a normal life, like other people?”

     “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re not normal,” he said. Excluding his own vigorously denied neuroses, anyone who endured birth, near death, trauma, separation, and reunification in the span of three years would be hard-pressed not to skirt the boundaries of normalcy.

                                                                                               * * *

      As if the loft were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen, the weighty silence stretched like a rubber band on the verge of snapping. They were both aware when it started, that thing between them that sucked all the air out of a room. No longer inscrutable, hazel eyes wickedly darkened, scorching Justin’s flesh with their need and chilling his bones with their intent. After all this time, they still could throw him off balance, making him feel like a specimen under glass and a horny teenager at the same time.

      When they got back together, they were parched nomads who had found water in a desert. But as time went on, there was a subtle difference. While their desire hadn’t waned, the sex felt too desperate, tainted by lies and deception, tinged with betrayal and jealousy. Uncertainty fed their insecurities about themselves and each other, making them wonder how long they would last, if they would last. He had wanted to talk about it, but when he summoned the courage to broach the subject, Brian pulled up his drawbridge of sarcasm and derision. He never mentioned it again, and it dangled out of reach, like a participle searching for a home.

      Brian closed the distance with the grace of a panther and traced his mouth with hot, determined strokes. He gave a contented sigh as the blissful feeling soothed his frazzled nerves. If he were a cat, he would have purred. This was how it should be. Brian’s kisses told him without words what was in his heart. This was how it was meant to be.  

                 _“_ **We have to trust in gestures. This is what always goes unrecognized when we ask ourselves what is genuine and real.”** _Rene Pollesch_

                                                                                               * * *   

      As if a dam had broken, they stumbled to the bed, leaving a trail of hastily discarded clothing in their wake. They wanted the fuck to last but it was going to be impossible. Fueled by blue-eyed desire and lust, Brian ripped open a foil packet with his teeth and grabbed the lube with shaky hands.

      Justin gave a provocative wriggle under him. “Need help?”

     “Shut up!” He flicked open the tube, squirted a generous amount in his palm and coated himself with only the lightest of touches before pushing into the tight channel.

     “Fuck!” Justin half-whispered, half-grunted, his eyes going wide at the burning intrusion.

      Ignoring his libido’s impatience to bulldoze in, he held still, letting Justin’s muscles stretch to accept him. When the faint pressure of a heel on his back gave him the go-ahead, he eased inside inch by agonizing inch until the weight of his balls rested against the perfectly shaped ass. His breath hitched in his throat. He never could figure out why it was always so different with him, like traveling home along a familiar road with ever-changing scenery.

      With legs wrapped around his waist, he started to move. A litany of curses tumbled out as Justin pressed up to meet each thrust, raking his nails across his back. Spurred on by a feverish chant of 'harder, more, fuck me,' he changed his rhythm. When he aimed for the sweet spot that would push them over the edge, Justin covered his face with his arms.

     “Look at me,” he gritted.

      Justin lowered his hands and bared his heart, body, and soul to him. Like a beacon of light, the blue eyes shimmered with a love so naked, they turned him inside out, making him want to rip out his own unworthy heart as a gift and surrender his body and soul. The depth of emotion triggered an unstoppable tsunami. He sped up, the rapid-fire snap of his hips sending them on a slow slide across the bed with every jab, and Justin stayed with him.

      When the muscles convulsed around his cock, his climax threw him off his personal cliff with mind-numbing sensation. His body trembled as he exploded with a primal growl and a name on his lips. “Justin!”

                                                                                               * * *

      Justin blindly reached out and grasped Brian's hand like an anchor. Close, so close. When the wave slammed into him with a flash of white, his ass grabbed Brian’s dick in a determined chokehold to hold him and keep him safe. He gave a guttural cry and shuddered his release, the words in his head a silent prayer of promise, _I love you, Brian._

                                                                                                * * *                                                                                                                                                      

      Sated and relaxed, they lay amid a tangle of sheets and each other, letting the warmth of nakedness soak into their pores like a healing balm. Justin alternated between playing with the stray hairs around Brian’s nipples and running his thumb along his chin. He received lazy circles on his arm and strokes in his hair in return.

      His face buried in the scent and feel of cornsilk, Brian’s muffled voice tickled his scalp. “What you said earlier, about how you felt?”

     “Yeah?”

     “The feeling’s mutual.”

      Justin stopped playing and snuggled deeper into the crook of the protective arm. He rested his hand on Brian’s chest and flattened his palm. “I know. I’ve always known. But I didn’t know if you did.”  
   
      Before sleep claimed them, he heard, “I did. ‘It just took a while to sink in.’ ”

                                                                          [](http://kinfic2.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/4324/39693)

 

                                                                                                 **~FINI~**

  



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